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Posted on June 28, 2011 at 09:17:42 PM by tristan & celidon
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The world seemed to flick suddenly into slow motion for Tristan. One second Mara was elbowing him in the ribs, causing him to sleep forwards slightly. This forced him to grab hold of a protruding stone in order to stop himself from tumbling off the tower. The next second however, a shriek of genuine terror was reverberating through the air and Tristan’s mouth dropped open in horror as the girl fell from her perch and over the edge of the castle. What had actually happened in a couple of seconds, seemed to have taken ten times as long to the boy, and it was just lucky, that he was not the kind of child to freeze when bad things happened. “No!” he gasped, throwing himself forwards, and extending his right hand towards the girl, as his other hand gripped tightly to the nearest turret. Celidon too, rushed forwards, resting his front paws on the neighbouring turret he peered over the edge, aware of the griffin at his shoulder, he nuzzled the other familiar’s beak in an attempt to reassure her. Mara was hanging from the wall, having succeeded in grabbing hold of one of the stones with her claws. From what the young Prince could see however, her grip seemed to be slipping every second that ticked by. His heart was thundering against his ribs, a cold, tight knot had developed in his stomach, and he was completely oblivious to the scrapes and scratches that the castle’s outer surface was creating on his skin. All that mattered, was saving the girl’s life, no matter how annoying she might be, he could not have lived with himself if he had let her die. He found himself wishing, as he leaned further over the edge, that his father was there. Father would know what to do. “Take my hand!” Tristan shouted, finally managing to find his voice, and was relieved to hear that it was not cracked with fear as he was worried it might be. “Use your claws if you have to, just grab hold!” His fingers were a couple of inches from her own, she would need to release the wall with one hand in order to be able to reach him. Tristan bit his lip, as his green eyes, which had widened in fear, looked down at Mara hanging helplessly from her place on the wall. His expression seemed suddenly kinder, more modest, as if the fear he was feeling had chased the arrogance out of him. “Please!” he begged, trying to extend his short child’s arm even further, “I’m sorry, I don’t want you to die, just let me help you!” |
for we were made of stronger things, the memories of soldiers, the children of kings |
 original image by Stefan Tell at flickr.com |
Replies:
- all the way to the end of the world - By stellemaria June 30, 2011 at 09:46:20 PM
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